


The First Lesson

by prettyoddthings



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Dad!Tony, Gen, basically: how to handle death, suffering peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 13:11:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11968110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyoddthings/pseuds/prettyoddthings
Summary: Sebastian Grey was a construction worker, currently employed to help rebuild the last ruins scattered over New York. He was lying on the ground and looked as if he were fast asleep. Yet the unwavering motionlessness of his chest told a different story.Sebastian Grey was forty-one, father of two kids, completely innocent and irrevocably dead.And it was undeniably Peter’s fault.





	The First Lesson

Sebastian Grey was a construction worker, currently employed to help rebuild the last ruins scattered over New York. He was lying on the ground and looked as if he were fast asleep. Yet the unwavering motionlessness of his chest told a different story.   
Sebastian Grey was forty-one, father of two kids, completely innocent and irrevocably dead. And it was undeniably Peter’s fault.

-x-

“May I’ll be fine, it’s just for a few days…”   
Peter was sitting on his bed, phone pressed against his ear.   
“No, of course not…Aunt May, I’m not gonna let some slick guy into the apartment.”   
He sighed. “May, it’s okay, I’ll be fine. Yeah…yeah…Call 911 in emergencies and when it comes down to it, I’ll crash at Ned’s. Yeah…Love you too, bye.”

Peter had the apartment all to himself for the next days. Just him, his computer and the loud television from the floor below. No aunt May.

He put down his phone and grabbed the nearest book. He was a normal teenager and normal teenagers had to read coursework. He flew over the lines but couldn’t concentrate on them. Letters and words were passing him by and somehow his thoughts always came back to the same thing. After a few minutes of awkwardly finding the best reading position he gave up and closed the book.

Peter looked over at his suit, which was draped carefully over his chair.

He sighed and closed his eyes. Then he jumped off the bed.

He could rest for the next three days, as promised, and stay out of trouble, as promised, but then again that wasn’t him. He felt an odd sense of betrayal as he grabbed the suit. He ran a hand over the material. May knew about _this_ , she trusted him and she’d made him promise not to do anything stupid while she was out of town. For his own security and her mental health. That had been the deal, the deal he’d sworn to keep.

He hesitated as he opened the window. Three nights, that was all it would take. For three nights New York’s streets could hold their own, without him looking over them. He closed the window, took off the mask and ran a hand through his hair. He could do his Spanish homework, catch up with the latest episodes of Doctor Who and make some nice nachos. That sounded like a plan.

He stared down at the mask in his hand, the mask Tony Stark, _the Tony Stark_ , had made for him in order to be able to make a difference. He gripped it tighter.  

_Sorry May, duty calls._

-x-

Everything happened so fast.

Now everything slowed down, unbearably so. Peter couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak the only thing he could do was gape.   
There was no blood. Nothing that came close to a wound, but the man couldn’t stand up, he didn’t answer and most of all he was lying there on the cold hard ground, not breathing.

It hit Peter like a truck.   
He stumbled and fell to the ground, every energy left, drained out of him.  

He had to call emergencies, he had to call 911, he had to do _something_ , but he couldn’t. Deep down he knew there was nothing left he could do.   
Death was definite.

The first kick to his head shook him out of his haze. The second got him to his feet, the third got him to concentrate. The fourth hit made him punch back. Each punch harder than the last one. Out of desperation or out of redemption he didn’t know, until the man dropped.

Peter tasted blood, but couldn’t care less. With the help of wobbly feet, he moved away from his attacker, toward the body. He fell to his knees and lifted a shaking hand and closed the man’s eyes.

This was his doing. If he hadn’t been here tonight this wouldn’t have happened. The realization sunk in.

He had just killed someone.

“Nononononononononononono...WAKE UP…Sir… _please_...wake up!” His voice broke.

Suddenly air didn’t reach his lungs and his arms couldn’t stop shaking.   
He remembered letting out a horrified scream.

Afterwards everything went black.

-x-

Peter liked being Spiderman, he liked the freedom it gave him, the opportunity to do good. It was what essentially made him important. Nobody cared about the geeky kid with good brains, but Spiderman, a hero that helped the citizens of New York, now _that_ was someone who attracted people like light attracted flies.   
Sometimes, he thought that Peter Parker was unimportant, the only thing that counted was Spiderman, the hero. That thought hurt him, deep down in his gut.

Peter Parker was a normal kid when it came down to it. A kid barely fifteen years old and completely and utterly wet behind the ears in every aspect of heroism. Peter Parker was a kid that tried so hard to make the world a better place, that he never even considered that he might be the villain in somebody’s story.

-x-

He couldn’t sleep.

Every time he closed his eyes, his mind took him back to the cold, lifeless body on the side of the road. And every time he startled out of his bed with a shriek of terror.

He didn’t know what to do. Guilt was raging in his gut, guilt and terror of what he’d done.

He was sweating buckets, his heartbeat echoing in his head.

He’d been to the police station. He had been ready to go in and scream to the world that he was indeed, Spiderman, and that he had killed somebody and should be punished. He had been so close, so close to make things right, but in the end, he couldn’t.

He stood there, in the rain without a raincoat, without a sweatshirt, in shorts and a bloodstained top. He was holding the door open, but didn’t enter. If he did this, there was no going back. If he did this, then this was the end, but it would be what he deserved.

After a while a police officer came out, asked him if something was wrong and if he could help. Peter didn’t respond, but let go of the door and ran. He didn’t know how long he ran, but his legs gave in when the sun started to come out. He was a coward. In every sense of the world.

It started unnoticed by most.   
Peter couldn’t look people in the eyes. His hands started to shake. Sleep deprived and on caffeine he couldn’t concentrate, his grades dropped.

All this could be normal teenager behaviour, but what made the difference was that Peter couldn’t touch the suit anymore.

The suit was packed away in an old shoe box, which was placed under several other boxes in his closet. It looked innocent and unimportant, like nothing of value was hiding in it.

Spiderman ceased to exist, and people couldn’t seem to shut up about it.

Peter ignored it, Peter ignored everything. He went to school, he tried to pay attention to classes but it never worked. After five minutes he was back to thinking about the cold man on the ground. He didn’t even know his name. _He had killed a man whose name he didn’t even know._

Tears came and went, sometimes some even crawled their way over his cheeks mid-lecture. Nobody noticed, nobody cared. Peter couldn’t even get himself to care.

-x-

May was the first one to come to him. The worry in her eyes like a slap to the face, waking him slightly out of his stupor. Guilt starting to rip him apart once again, chasing off the emptiness.

He was sitting on the ground his knees stuck to his chest.

“Peter, honey…” May entered the room and Peter suddenly wanted to vanish, be gone once and for all. Leave all of this guilt behind. Start fresh. He pulled his legs closer to his body.

She sighed and reached out to him with her hand. Peter didn’t take it. Suddenly, she backed away.

“I love you Peter, no matter what, you can talk to me. Don’t forget that…” She said, offered him a weak smile and closed the door once again.

Nothing could have held back the tears now running down his face. _Impossible. Impossible. Impossible._

-x-

Tony Stark was having a relatively nice day when the alarm went off. The alarm that he’d built into Peter Parker’s suit, indicating that either he was getting torn to shreds by a horrible monster or some other person was trying their best to rip the suit into tiny little pieces.   
He sighed as he put on his armour and was faster out of Stark Tower than you could say idiot, on his way to rescue his own personal ‘pain in the ass’.

What he found on the site was confusing him and suddenly he wished there was some alien-y and illogical explanation to why he was seeing what he was seeing.

Peter Parker was trying to destroy his own suit. A suit he’d thanked Tony at least a thousand times for.

“Kid, what do you _think_ you’re doing?” Tony flew closer.

Peter’s head snapped up. He looked ghostly white, sweat glistening over his forehead and most of his arm shone blood red.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter’s eyes gained some sense of direction. “Mr. Stark.” His face lost the last bits of colour remaining there. “Mr. Stark!”

“I’ll repeat the question. What do you think you’re doing? That’s multi-million dollar suit!” Tony landed next to the kid. The kid, that held a knife in his hand, a knife that was doing far too much damage to Tony’s suit for his liking.

“Sir, I can explain…I mean…this is not what it looks like!” Peter took a few steps away from Tony, stumbled and fell.

“It looks to me like you are trying to destroy something I worked relatively hard on and was generous enough to give you. So, you tell me.” Tony’s anger rose with every step he took towards Peter.

For a moment neither of them spoke and Tony took Peter in. They were on a rooftop, mid-November, at 8 PM and the kid was only wearing sweatpants and a hoodie. A hoodie whose sleeve was completely red, almost as if drenched in blood.

Tony stopped, Peter kept crawling away.

“It was the right decision.” Peter said as he slowly rose to his feet. “It’s the only choice I have! The only one!”

“How is destroying _that_ the right decision?” Tony snarled. “Do you want to go back to shitty goggles?”

Peter let out a small laugh that sounded so broken, so helpless that Tony’s heart missed a beat.

“I have to kill Spiderman. It’s justice.” Peter declared with an air of doubtless honesty. That’s the moment Tony knew he had majorly screwed up somehow. Because this kid absolutely loved being Spiderman.

“Why would it be justice?” Tony asked, almost ripping the suit out of Peter’s hands.

“An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. A life for a life.” Peter said. “I just want to make things right. Spiderman has to go.”

Tony was facing him. A child that was so clearly trying not to break out in tears. A child that seemed too thin, too fragile and most of all _gone_. Gone were the enthusiastic smiles and wild gestures; gone were the animated hellos and the almost annoying questions; gone was everything that made Peter Parker, well, Peter Parker.

It dawned on Tony there and then.

“Peter, what happened?”

They stared at each other. Peter broke eye contact first and started to fidget. He started rubbing his hands over his hair, then his face, turning completely away from Tony.

“Normal stuff, you know? Friendly neighbourhood Spiderman stuff.” Peter said, continuing to back away from him.

“I don’t appreciate liars.”

It was written all over Peter’s face, the guilt, the shame, everything, yet Tony didn’t want to push him. Secrets were shared, not forced out.   
Yet, the kid had to come clean, it was the only way to move forward. So, Tony waited.

Tony’s father never waited. Everything had to be done as soon as it started to annoy Howard Stark. Tony lived by the same rules, even if he didn’t want to admit it. He had only waited for one thing, person, in his entire life and now Peter Parker had seemingly joined the very exclusive group.

“I killed someone.” The answer was breathless and short and explained way too much. “And I don’t even know his name. I don’t even know his fucking name! I don’t even-” Peter took a step back.

That was the moment Peter Parker fell from a rooftop and Tony Stark jumped after him.

-x-

“I am saying that this has priority” The voice was stern. “I’m not saying that the meeting isn’t important Pep, but…this… _I_ have to handle this. You can handle _them_.”

“Tony, you don’t have to do this alone. We could call someone, get someone _professional._ ” A woman replied. “I think you can’t help him anymore.”

Peter opened his eyes and was met with blinding light. He blinked a few times, trying to make out where he was, but as he shifted slightly his whole world started to spin. So he closed his eyes and not even two seconds later he was sleeping soundly.

-x-

Tony wasn’t good with kids. To be fair he wasn’t good with people, full stop. It wasn’t a skill that came natural to him. Robots, machines anything technical was easy to fix when things went awry. He would change the coding, reboot the bot or simply start from scratch.   
Peter experienced malfunctions and Tony had no idea how to fix them.

The kid was sleeping on his couch, a blanket draped over him and looked so very young.

It had been so close. Tony felt responsible. He felt responsible for everything that was happening to Peter, because he brought him into this. He made him into what he was now. A depressed, maybe even suicidal child.

Peter had been asleep for more than twelve hours. Tony didn’t wake him. The kid needed the sleep and he needed time to think. He had called his aunt, made sure she knew where he was, he’d had FRIDAY inform the school and now he was waiting for an epiphany on how to handle Peter.

He didn’t think that the first death would hit Peter this hard, but then again, Tony Stark did not do empathy.

He cared though. He cared maybe a bit too much about what would happen to Peter if he would never get over this.

Tony had killed, on purpose and not on purpose, he dealt with it, like he dealt with everything. Alcohol and machines. Forget, repress, drown.

 _‘It’ll get easier after a while.’_  
‘This is part of the job you signed up for.’  
‘You have to get over it.’  

Everything he came up with sounded insensitive, stupid and most of all not helpful. He sighed and rubbed his face. _What have I done?_

He stood up and stalked out of the room, heading up to his laboratory.

Maybe Pepper was right, maybe calling someone professional was the right way to do this. Problem was, he had no idea who to call and he didn’t want to involve more people than necessary, for Peter’s sake and for his own.

He shot a last glance at Peter.   
Normally when he looked at the kid there was pride settling in his gut. This time it was sorrow.

_-x-_

He’d awoken twenty minutes ago, confused and feeling for once in what felt like eternity, well-rested. The moment he opened his eyes he wanted to go back to blissful ignorance. Yet, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes he sat up and was met with a very weary looking Tony Stark.

Peter couldn’t remember his dad outside of old photographs. The only person who came close to being a dad was his uncle Ben, who was very much, well, _dead_.   
This was clearly some sort of intervention.   
This experience was new to him, sure there had been talks and explanations from a concerned aunt May, but it was never like this.

This was more personal.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter said, “where am I?” His voice sounded rough and used.

“Stark Tower,” The man opposite him shifted slightly, “you’ve been here for the last twenty hours.”

Peter blinked. “Oh.”

Silence reigned over them, filled with awkward eye contact and blinking.

“And, why am I here?”

The answer was short and to the point. “You fell from a rooftop.”

“Oh.”

Peter’s arm was hurting pretty badly, he remembered accidentally grazing himself with the knife while trying to cut up the suit. The arm was bandaged, probably a curtesy of Mr. Stark.   
There was a sudden urge to squeeze the arm and see the white bandage become red, but Peter repressed it.

“I think I should get going.” He freed himself from the blanket and stood up, just to be pushed down to the couch once again. Tony Stark didn’t let go of Peter’s shoulder as he sat next to him. His grip was tight, almost too tight, so Peter thought.

“I think we should, you know, talk about our feelings, how about it kid?”   
Peter wasn’t the most observant person in the world, he knew that, but he could feel the tension radiating off the seemingly always aloof man. He opened his mouth, just to close it again. What was he supposed to say? He had already said everything that mattered. He had killed someone, now he had to somehow find a way to redemption. Most of all, he didn’t want to talk about it, couldn’t.

“If you were ten years older, I would say get over it. Life’s hard and you’ve chosen this path.” Mr. Stark halted. “Yet, you are not twenty-five. You’re fifteen and you’re more human than I could ever be. I don’t know if beating yourself up about is a good thing or a bad thing. Bad for your general life I guess, but good in a way that you truly care. That’s one thing I can’t say about myself.”

Peter looked down to his feet and balled his hands into fists.

“But Peter, sometimes self-preservation is more important than being able to say that you’re a good person. You’ve become a hero, somebody who fights for the small and innocent, and sometimes to protect the bigger picture, sacrifices will have to be made.”   
Mr. Stark sighed and he ruffled Peter’s hair.   
“So what I am trying to say is, you can’t save everyone and you will hurt people, that’s the way of life, if you work for the greater good.”

Peter didn’t know what to make of Mr. Starks’ words.

“Does it get easier?” He asked. “The killing?”

“Not for everyone.”

Peter nodded and kept nodding until he felt as if he had just been on a rollercoaster.

“Sir, could I ask you a favour?”

“Sure, kid.”

“Would you be able to get the identity of the man I killed?”

-x-

Sebastian Grey was a construction worker, currently employed to help rebuild the last ruins scattered over New York.   
Sebastian Grey was forty-one, father of two kids, completely innocent and irrevocably dead. And it was undeniably Peter’s fault.

And he had to live with it, because if he stopped now, then Sebastian Grey died in vain.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was first published on my fanfiction.net account, just so you know. Have a nice day!


End file.
